


Locked in a Cage

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:49:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for Dean locked in a cursed cage worrying about Castiel. I got sort of carried away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked in a Cage

 “God dammit!”

Dean pushes uselessly at the electrified bars, only injuring himself with the effort. The demon, Labal as the damn bastard keeps chanting with glee, has created some sort of ‘soul trap’ which has rendered Dean immobile for an indeterminate period of time.

Sam’s still waiting for him. Cas is still searching for him.

Dean throws another handful of rocks into the air, watching as they hit the bars and burst into strange blue flames, collapsing to the floor after a moments’ levitation. He tries again, and again, until he runs out of rocks to chuck uselessly at the cursed bars, each time ending in the same dismal failure, the same hopeless little fizzle.

He grunts and walks to the back wall, the one that hasn’t been cursed, and collapses against it, bringing his knees to his chest. Dean _hates_ not knowing the whereabouts of his family; he _hates_ not knowing if someone’s in danger. For all he knows, Sam was killed by that fucking demon, for all he knows, Cas could be… Cas could be lost.

Castiel had gotten separated from Sam and Dean about three quarters of the way into the dingy sewer, stating that his former ‘angelic navigating’ was still very much at work. Dean hadn’t believed the poor bastard, but he’d stupidly given him the benefit of the doubt and let him explore the dungeon.

And now it’s probably gotten him killed. Hell, it’s probably gotten them all killed, but there isn’t much Dean can do about that now. He already feels like utter shit for letting himself be trapped by a _fucking grunt_. He’s already proven that he’s a failure.

Still though, the thought burns through his corneas; Sam is his baby brother, but he’s been hunting all his life, literally. Castiel had only recently been dropped into the shitter, he’s not as familiar with what he is and isn’t able to do. For all he knows, Labal could be torturing his best friend, could be peeling back that formerly glorious exterior to destroy the innocent, loving person within.

“God _fucking_ dammit!” Dean yells again, mostly to himself. He can’t believe he’s let himself be so fucking stupid. He needs to get out.

So he resorts to reciting the spells his father has coached into him.

Thankfully, the demon didn’t bother searching for any knives, or anything at all for that matter, so he unlatches the one hooked at his ankle and slices a thin stripe into his palm. Once enough blood accumulates in the cup of his hand, he spills it onto the cold, stone ground, letting it seep into a small puddle before tracing his fingers through the warm, wet liquid.

He traces an ancient communications spell, whispering Cas’s name through pinched lips. The sigil begins to glow, just as it should, and faint imagery floods behind his squeezed shut eyelids. Dean sees what Cas sees, and what he finds is a whole lot of dank, dark walls.

Castiel better not still be in this shit hole.

The spell grows stronger, his sight more clear. He can make out shapes, sources of light, a pair of filthy, pale, bony hands looming before his eyes, searching out where he’s stepping in the poorly lit hall with his fingertips.

The barrier between him and Castiel grows thinner yet, his senses melding with his friends, sounds, tastes, scents becoming all the more clear with each passing second. He can _feel_ Cas; the steady thrum of blood beneath his veins accompanied by a racing heartbeat. Castiel is worried, and it’s conquering his thoughts.

Castiel stops moving suddenly, his hands settle back to their respectful sides and his thumbs rub little circles into his jeans. His head tilts in that way Castiel is so fond of and he examines his bearings. Discomfort courses through his veins and just before his lips part, Dean knows what he’s about to say.

“Dean?”

Dean nods at the question, trying his damnedest to show Castiel that he’s alive and waiting. His connected senses create a somewhat surreal image; Castiel’s body is taut like a bowstring while his own is quivering excitedly; they might be able to get out of here.

There is some scuffling behind the angel and Castiel’s head swivels around, muttering a quick curse under his breath. He sprints to the wall nearest his body, ducking beneath a small ledge formed by an even smaller crevice. Rhythmic footsteps reverberate through their bodies, both of their heart rates picking up in speed and intensity.

“The tall one escaped before I could do anything. He killed Rezizael,” a familiar voice, Labal, murmurs. The person accompanying him grunts in derision, as though the thing feels love or pain for a lost comrade.

“Rezizael needed to learn to be more careful,” the anonymous voice mutters. “She revealed our position; I would’ve done it if the hunter didn’t.”

A shiver runs up Castiel’s spine and his lips betray a quiet gasp. The footsteps suddenly halt alongside Castiel’s breathing. After a moment, the anonymous demon whispers “Go back to base. See if you can get something out of the Michael sword.”

Labal affirms and footsteps continue on their general trajectory, leading away from Castiel. A wave of relief courses through Dean’s veins; Castiel wouldn’t have been able to handle that demon armed with just his angel blade. Dean hadn’t been able to take him down with both his demon blade and a good amount of salt _and_ his brother. Unfortunately, the lackey is still looming near the former angel, scoping out the area with keen interest and little chance of abandoning his pursuits.

Luckily, and much to Dean’s happiness, the demon breezes just pass Castiel’s hiding place, bypassing it altogether as he continues his trek backwards through the hall. Dean directs his thoughts to urging Castiel to sit in his spot for just a moment longer, just until he’s sure that the monster won’t return to take him away from Dean.

His prayers are answered by Cas’s immobility. They breathe in tandem, listening, counting the distance of his footsteps. When the demon is completely out of earshot, Castiel stretches from his squat and, ignoring the tenseness in his spine, continues down the hall towards wherever it was Labal was going.

Dean hears the emergence of footsteps from his own end, a soft humming of classic ACDC and an angry grunt when something is bumped into. Cracking open his eyes in the dim lighting isn’t so difficult, focusing on who’s showed up to greet him is the challenge.

When his split vision finally refocuses onto his own immediate sight, he spots Labal, all of his pointed teeth exposed in a malicious grin.

“A direct visit from the boss himself; I’m honored.”

The easy smile upon Labal’s face fades into an angry grimace.

“As am I, Righteous Man. Tell me, how was it being pulled from hell half a man?”

Labal’s beady black eyes shine in the soft firelight, highlighting the features of his face. The man he’s possessing would be handsome; high cheekbones, a nice angular nose, plump lips, all topped with a thick, curly head of hair. The demon possessing the man kind of derails from any effect the looks have, but the sentiment stands nonetheless.

“What does me the courtesy, Labal?” Dean asks, seeping as much sarcasm as he can muster into his tone. It does the trick; those handsome features meld into an angry frown and the demon lifts a hand with a _snap_.

“You’re… free.”

Free? Why the hell would this demon _free_ Dean? He doesn’t move from his seating on the floor, too suspicious to even stand and fight. No, instead of taking the bait, Dean sits and observes as  Labal saunters into the cage, breaching past the formerly electrified bars without a second thought. He stoops and reaches a hand just before Dean.

“C’mon, no strings attached, human.”

Dean smirks at the demon. Yeah, he can believe that about as much as he believes demons are a kind people bent on benefitting the lives of humans across the globe. Just before responding, he traces his fingers through the drying blood in another pattern he’s learned; something Castiel taught him.

“Yeah, well, tell that to your meat sack, fucker.” Dean smacks the bloody pattern and watches as the sulfuric black smoke seeps from the man’s orifices, bleeding out onto the rocky floor of the cave prison. It only takes a moment for Labal to writhe and curl in wispy patterns around his knees, occasionally flashing in distress.

“Draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolicaadjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare!”

What used to be Labal fizzles out into a swirling cloud of greyish smoke, briefly flaring to a small fire before disappearing completely. The man the demon was possessing comes to slowly, his eyes blinking repeatedly up at Dean from the ground, awareness coming slowly to him.

“Where am I?” he asks, deep baritone marked by an accent filling the crevice. Dean smiles at the attractive man, briefly relishing in his appearance before wrapping an arm beneath the man’s shoulders and heaving him into sitting position.

“You were possessed. We need to get out of here.”

The man nods, not even flinching at the blood gathered around Dean, and stands. He waits for Dean to follow before proceeding out of the prison. They wander down the hall together, the man probably searching out an escape, Dean seeking his best friend. He’d seen him headed this way when they were one and the same. He can only hope Castiel made it so far.

His hopes are crushed when he hears an anguished cry emerge from about fifty feet down the dank hall.

Dean breaks out into a sprint; he can’t help it. His resolve crumples as he hears accompanying cries, all more and more pleading, desperate, and it only hastens his endeavor.

He rounds a corner to a wide, brightly lit opening, finding Cas laid out across the floor with a bloody gash at his gut. His eyes are squeezed shut, his hands twitching towards the wound with trembling care.

Dean examines the room for the cause of such a wound, for the evil son of a bitch who dared lay a hand upon his angel. What he finds is disappointing; Castiel is alone. So he sprints to where his best friend lies bloody; thankfully he’s not mortally wounded, but he needs to be brought to a hospital as quickly as possible.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, his hands drawing the former angel into his lap and stroking at his face. “Don’t ever wander off again.”

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs. His entire body slumps into Dean’s, so relieved to have been found that all of his precautions come collapsing. And Dean lets him; his hands are comforting as they push Castiel’s hair off his forehead, his returning smile genuine when Castiel offers him one, his lips gentle when they brush over the angel’s.

The stranger is what breaks Dean’s focus from Castiel. Harsh footsteps fill the room with a discordant rhythm, followed by a sharp cry. Dean turns to see a hand thrust through the chest of the handsome man once possessed, a large hulk of a man being the owner of said hand.

“Ariabel,” Castiel murmurs, his eyes peering around Dean’s body. Something cold makes its way onto Dean’s free palm and he glances down to see that Castiel had passed him the angel blade.

As gently as possible, he settles his best friend back onto the floor, pulling off his jacket to make a mock pillow beneath Castiel’s head before turning to face the intruder. And… Jesus, the intruder is a big one.

The man stands at least seven feet high, his head almost colliding with the ceiling. His girth is not much less than his height what with the fully muscled Hulk-like shoulders and the bulging muscles of his thighs. The first similarity that creeps into Dean’s mind is Lou Ferrigno, but the man before him as at least another fifty pounds on the original Hulk.

“Hi!” Dean beams at the demon, clenching the angelic weapon in his fist tightly. Slowly, his feet draw him closer to the demon, his body tensing up with the shortening distance between the two. “What’s your name, big guy?”

The demon smiles at him; well, at least he thinks he smiles at him. The distinction between happiness and evil intent is difficult to identify with demon kind. Nonetheless, the demon matches Dean’s footsteps, creeping closer and closer to the point where Dean’s vision no longer matches up with the demon’s eyes, but his chest instead.

“Ariabel,” he replies, bringing his fists to a boxer like stance before him. Dean mimics the preparation, holding the sword in front of him in ready position. “You killed my friend, Michael sword.”

“Yeah, well your friend tried to kill my friend, buddy.” Dean makes a quick lunge, plunging the angelic blade just to the right of what he’d intended to be his mark, and fully sheathing it within Ariabel’s stomach. He glances up at the demon’s face, checking for any signs of duress and not catching any.

The demon takes the opportunity to smack a meaty fist directly into Dean’s jaw, causing stars to loom in Dean’s vision. When his sight clears up, he finds that he’s collapsed onto the floor, but the angelic blade has freed itself of the demon’s gut.

He makes lunge for it, fingers wrapping around the hilt just as Ariabel’s hand winds around Dean’s arm. He gives a slight twitch, and a loud snap fills the room escorted by a painful roaring cry from someone.

Dean glances over at where the demon’s hand was. He finds that his arm is limp, fingers seizing without his orders. Oh. Ariabel broke his arm. He shakes his head once, twice, and resumes his efforts to bring the demon down, discarding the fact that he and Cas both need serious medical attention.

He lunges once more, this time getting a more accurate target towards the demon’s heart. He takes the shot; stabbing the weapon in as far as his weakened body can manage and takes a few paces backwards, watching as a bright light effuses from the demon’s orifices.

“Goodbye you sick son of a bitch.”

Dean can feel his entire body shaking from the sheer amount of adrenaline running through his veins. Carefully, he walks back to his friend, who seems to be in better prospects than when Dean had found him.

“Dean… your arm,” Castiel murmurs as Dean stoops down to drag him to his feet. Soft fingertips brush over the numb skin, and a deep grunt of irritation emerges from Dean’s chest.

“What?”

“If I were still in angel this wouldn’t be a problem,” Castiel replies, waving a trembling arm over his and Dean’s body. Dean tugs one of Castiel’s arms over his shoulders and carefully winds his good arm around Castiel’s waist.

“It’s not a problem even if you’re human, Cas.” Dean replies, turning to offer his best friend a small grin. “Sammy can take care of us; that’s the Winchester way.”

Castiel’s big blue eyes focus onto Dean’s face with a renewed sadness, as though he feels _guilty_ about getting injured by some outside and unforeseen hazard.

“Cas, don’t tell me you think this is your fault.”

Castiel glances at the ground, an ashamed blush creeping onto his ears and neck. Dean sighs, and ducks his head to Castiel’s level, urging him to meet his eyes. When he does, after a moment of pestering pecks and kisses, Cas returns his attention to Dean.

“It’s not your fault, moron. Don’t ever think that I wouldn’t willingly die for you,” Dean grunts. He can feel a similar blush creeping onto his own cheeks just before he continues. “There are just… I would die for you Cas.”

Castiel’s face goes through phases at the subtle admission; starting from a morose grimace, it evolves into a flustered, pensive sort of expression. After a moment, Castiel understands and turns to Dean with a grin splayed over all of his features.

He definitely doesn’t blush when it’s directed to him.

“I… would die for you too, my righteous man.”


End file.
